


The Winchester Circus

by Novachester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Spanking, Tentacles, hole spanking, octo!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novachester/pseuds/Novachester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grand spectacle has swept through the land, capturing the hearts and imaginations of all who witness it; The Winchester Circus, a family show that boasts not only talent, but true magic. Their roster spans dozens of species, but perhaps their most noteworthy act is that of a fabled sea monster, a wicked kraken-like beast that does battle with the brave Dean Winchester every show.</p>
<p>What the audience doesn't need to know is that the beasts name is Castiel, and that he's anything but wicked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winchester Circus

They’ve been performing together for a couple of months now, Dean and Castiel. Their act is renowned, a circus spectacle that both thrills and amazes.  
  
Dean is perfect for the role of the hero. He knows just how to rile up the crowd, boots thudding as he walks back and forth across plank they’ve got suspended atop the murky tank of sea water. He calls out, “Who among you would be brave enough to do battle with a mighty sea creature?”  
  
Several small hands fly into the air, children by the dozens advocating themselves as fierce warriors. Dean gives a hearty laugh, drawing his sword from the sheath tied to his belt. “So eager! That tells me all I need to know. It tells me you know not what waits in the depths, what putrid beast thirsts for the blood in those tiny hands of yours,” he tells them, slashing his sword back and forth through the air in grand, theatrical gestures.  
  
He’ll be paying for the “putrid” comment later, he thinks, because while Dean is truly a swash buckler in theme and at heart, Castiel could not be further from the monster they have painted him as.  
  
Well, aside from the tentacles. Those are fairly accurate.  
  
The crowd erupts into screams as six long, purple-black limbs spring suddenly from the water,  two of them curling around Dean’s legs and yanking him down from his perch. Castiel is just early enough to his cue that the cry of surprise Dean gives is absolutely genuine, water catching in his mouth as he’s dragged down into the water.  
  
Dean can’t see a damn thing, but he can feel everything. Tendrils curl around his body in a protective circle, and he just manages to spew the water from between his lips before he feels hands cupping his face, a mouth pressing against his own. He opens his mouth against the other and eagerly sucks in the air provided, filtered through gills and tasting vaguely of the porridge they’d both had for breakfast.   
  
Dean snakes the hand not clutching a sword around the body he knows is in front of him, pinches playfully at Castiel’s hip. _You’re early_ , the gesture says, a reprimand. He feels a smile against his lips, but more than that he feels the tentacles coiled around his limbs squeeze gently in return, one of them pulling cheekily at the waist band of his pants.  Dean’s groan carries through the water, makes Castiel shiver.   
  
Anticipation is the name of this game. Castiel can hold Dean underwater for as long as he pleases this way, feeding Dean air. The tension in the crowd builds, and the two of them get to have a little fun. The first time they’d worked this out had been awkward, to say the least, but now it’s done with practiced ease, and sometimes they end up taking a little longer than they mean to.  
  
Deans whole body jerks when Castiel fits a tentacle right over Dean’s crotch, the limb rolling and sucking at the soaked fabric.  He quivers, biting at Castiel’s lower lip. There’s not much he can do like this, suspended in the water and completely at Cas’s mercy. The guy’s got him clutched so tightly that Dean can’t even roll his hips, can’t grind into what Castiel’s _teasing_ him with.  
  
Dean kisses Castiel deeply, slides his hand up along his back and into the wet mess of his hair, and takes a final breath from Castiel before he pulls none-too-gently on Castiel’s hair.  
  
 _Show time.  
  
_ Not a second later, Dean is thrust back up above water, tentacles wrapped over his shoulder and chest. He heaves a mighty shout, slashing his sword through the air in the vague direction of the rest of Castiel’s poised tentacles. Only about half of the things are real, the rest imitation props intended for Dean’s sword, held and manipulated by Castiel’s actual tentacles. Dean slices cleanly through one of the faux appendages, and an unearthly shriek fills the tent, blue liquid spraying from the severed prop.  
  
The staged battle lasts for about four minutes, with Dean finally heaving himself back up onto the plank. He does battle with the flailing limbs for another minute or so before, ducking and rolling out of the way of various blows before he deals the finishing blow, casting his sword down into the depths, where it supposedly impales this ferocious “monster.”  
  
The hideous cries and roars, all work of stagehands hidden below, die down as the tentacles droop down and sink into the water, leaving Dean to raise his sword triumphantly to the cheer of the crowd, grinning widely. Men and women alike toss various favors, but it’s the coins that descend that Dean is most excited about. He bows before sheathing his sword and leaping down from the stage, disappearing behind the curtains that dangle over the stage entrance.  
  
Immediately, Dean is handed a towel.  
  
Or rather, has a towel shoved into his face.  
  
Dean laughs as he grabs it, scrubbing it over his hair and face before wrapping it around his shoulders.  
  
“That was _amazing,_ ” Charlie says excitedly, dressed head to toe in the sparkling blue-white body suit required for her dazzling interpretive performance; she as the moon and Gilda as her ever elusive sun. “Castiel was so animated today. I honestly thought he was going to throw you at one point.”  
  
“You and me both,” Dean admits, untying his sword and handing it off to Kevin as he approaches. He shrugs off his leather vest and boots as well, all of which will have to be treated again for the next show. The operation they run is smooth, the shows having barely a fifteen minute break between them, and he can already hear Castiel’s tank being moved from the stage. Dean turns back to Charlie. “I better find out what’s got him so frisky today.”  
  
Charlie laughs. “Frisky? Really? Gonna go there? Okay,” she says, hands in the air as she walks by him to finish preparing for her show. “Don’t let me keep you,” she says, and just before she’s out of ear shot, she calls over her shoulder, ”and try not to flood the tent again!”  
  
Dean lets out an indignant little noise, though he should be used to the teasing by now. It’s fair to say everyone in the circus is well aware of the… _relationship_ Dean and Castiel have engaged in as of the last couple of weeks. It would be hard not to be, considering Dean has taken to spending just about every moment (that he’s not on stage) with Castiel, the half-man, half-sea creature Dean rescued from a particularly nasty tradesman who specialized in such oddities.  
  
Dean had offered Castiel two options: a ride home, or a job.  
  
Dean had no idea what to make of Castiel’s expression when he answered, “I don’t have a home.”  
  
Luckily, Dean has not witnessed that kind of desolation since he brought Castiel to the circus.  
  
Picking up strays has been Dean and Sam Winchester’s specialty for years. They started off small, traveling from town to town, amusing strangers with Dean’s charisma and Sam’s uncanny telepathic abilities. It didn’t take too long before more joined them, other kids without parents, or parents without kids, sometimes parents and kids who simply just didn’t _fit._  
  
There’s dozens of them now, ranging from faeries to nature whisperers, golems and acrobats. Even Dean’s assistant, Kevin, has the occasional prophetic vision of the future.   
  
Shaking his head, Dean makes his way to Cas’s tent. It’s not always easy transporting Castiel from location to location, being that he can only go for about six hours without water before he starts to feel sickly, but it’s always been worth it. Dean grins as he steps inside the tent, inspecting Castiel’s make-shift tub for the fourth time today.  
  
“Dean, I can assure you, it’s holding,” Castiel says, his pinky-purple lips curved into a small smile.  
  
“You keep saying that, but out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who hasn’t forgotten that time one exploded and flooded the whole tent,” Dean responds with equal amusement, pulling off his wet shirt. Castiel’s tentacles curl up over the edges of the tub, flexing rhythmically.  
  
“And whose fault was that?” Castiel asks, quirking a brow. His gaze slides downwards as Dean undoes the knot in the drawstring of his pants.   
  
Dean peels them and his underwear off and hangs the lot to dry before he climbs up and over the edge of the tub, easing himself into the room-temperature water. “I wasn’t the one rocking the boat, Cas,” he says cheekily, relaxing into it when Castiel’s tentacles move eagerly to his body, curling around his wrists and tugging him towards Cas.   
  
“Debatable,” Cas murmurs, the word fading into a pleased purr once Dean is finally close enough for Castiel to get his lips on him, his whole body melting against Dean’s as they kiss. Dean places both hands on Castiel’s hips, where tan skin blends gradually into soft lavender, then dark purple, then nearly black. Castiel’s arms wrap around Dean in return, thick and nearly as strong as his tentacles.  
  
“You put on a good show tonight,” Dean tells him between kisses, hand sliding down further, following the outline of Castiel’s body until he reaches what he’s decided is sort of like Castiel’s thigh, the place where his body splits off into eight large main tentacles, and then several smaller ones of varying sizes. He follows the arch of one of Castiel’s more tender tentacles and squeezes, drawing a pleased little moan from him. “Something got you worked up?”  
  
“Just you,” Castiel responds slyly, one tentacle pressing along the length of Dean’s spine, suction disks sucking marks along his skin. Dean tilts his head back, allows Castiel the space to dip forward and kiss across his throat, nipping occasionally. “The way you move, it’s always so…” A particularly sharp nip just above his collar bone makes Dean gasp. “Mesmerizing.”  
  
“Alright, alright, calm down,” Dean says with a smile, clutching Castiel’s shoulders. He slides his hands down, squeezes his thick forearms, licking his lips in anticipation as those muscles shift under his touch. “Don’t need to serenade the cow when you got the milk.”   
  
Castiel lifts his gaze to meet Dean’s, his expression as confused as it is endeared. “You’re not a cow, nor do you lactate.”

Dean laughs, hooking one leg over Cas’s hip, pleased when one tentacle rises instantly to support his weight on that side, and then the other. He squeezes his legs tight around Castiel’s waist, locking his one ankle over the other. He grins. “Guess you’re doing something wrong, then.”  
  
Castiel furrows his brows, confusion melting into that same fond bewilderment he gets whenever Dean’s behavior turns as silly as it is inappropriate. “My apologies,” he says, purposefully too proper, just before two tentacles cup each of Dean’s ass cheeks, spreading him wide as a third slides slickly down along the line of his ass. “Is this correct?”  
  
“Getting there,” Dean replies, managing to keep his tone surprisingly even. “S’alright, Cas. Don’t mind teaching you.” Dean goes from teasing to gasping against Castiel’s shoulder, his entire body tensing up with the wet slap of a tentacle against his ass, the blow dangerously close to his exposed hole.    
  
“How am I doing?” Castiel asks, his voice low and coming in hot puffs against Dean’s ear.  
  
“Closer,” Dean breathes, attempting to grind down against the tentacle soothing along his hole, though it remains infuriatingly gentle when it’s not snapping across his skin. “Closer,” he grits out again, rocking insistently against Cas. It earns him another slap, then another, each one coming closer and closer to where he _really_ wants it. “Cas, son of a bitch, c’mon, _gimme—_ Fuck!”  
  
Castiel’s tentacle cracks dead center over Dean’s hole, searing heat that punches the breath from Dean’s lungs. Dean can’t do anything but nod and gasp as Castiel strikes him over and over, tentacles slippery wet with the pheromones and slick they secrete.  Another slap, and then the tentacle is slipping inside, thrumming within the tight hold of Dean’s body, pushing and flexing.  
  
“Another,” Dean’s demanding almost immediately, as impatient as he is greedy. He pushed down, clenching, _craving_. Castiel hushes him, kissing his cheek, his nose and his tightly shut eyelids.  
  
“Almost,” Castiel assures, tentacle sliding back and forth, expanding fractionally with every passing second until he begins to add another. Dean groans long and low, head tipping back as he smiles widely.   
  
Castiel laughs lightly, leaning forward to press more kisses to Dean’s neck, sucking at his pulse point, reveling in the fast beat of it against his lips, the warmth pouring from Dean and onto Castiel.   “Greedy,” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s skin, twisting the two appendages until Dean starts shaking. “Impatient, petulant, _spoiled,_ ” Castiel adds, each word punctuated with another kiss.  
  
“Who went and spoiled me?” Dean shoots back, grinning tightly as he looks down at Cas, eyes half closed, the tension in his body palpable as he rides on the edge of his release, biting down on his tongue.  
  
“Touche,” Castiel relents, but Dean’s internal victory dance is cut short by another sharp crack across his ass, jolting his whole body, making him arch in a way that has Castiel damn near _growling_ in his ear. “Stunning,” Castiel coos, and now he’s starting to _fuck_ Dean, tentacles driving in and out in alternating paces, keeping no particular rhythm, something that drives Dean up the fucking wall, his cock throbbing, untouched and _aching_ between them, the water of the tub splashing around them.  
  
“Don’t start that c-crap again,” Dean breathes out shakily, an attempt to keep himself together as he takes a tight hold of Castiel’s shoulders, nails biting in.  
  
Castiel simply continues his stream of praise, kissing each word into Dean’s skin, along his cheeks, his jaw, his throat and anywhere else he can reach. His remaining free tentacles curl all around Dean, suckers aiding in his mission to kiss praise into every pore of Dean’s skin, to ensure that no inch of Dean doubts that he is loved. “Beautiful, talented, brave, honorable, _relentless.”  
  
_ Dean’s not even sure that he’s really hearing what Castiel’s saying anymore, but the warmth of each word sinks in anyways, lifting his heart with an addictive relief. Somehow Cas manages to make him feel like all the shit he goes through really means something to someone, and while in his head he knows it does, it’s just too fucking good to actually _feel_ that way.  
  
Dean comes with a shout that ends on something of a sob, one Dean tries to muffle in the crook of Castiel’s neck. He’s shaking hard, overwhelmed and riding an incredible high, grounded only by the tentacles Castiel has looped all around him.  
  
When Dean does finally regain his senses, his trembling having subsided to mild shivers, Castiel is _still_ speaking, still murmuring soft encouragements and adoration as he continues to kiss Dean all over, dragging his tentacles along Dean’s stomach, tentatively grazing his sensitive cock, milking Dean’s pleasure.  
  
“Cas,” Dean sighs, moving his hands from Castiel’s shoulders to cup his face, tilting his head up for a long, lazy kiss. Dean exhales through his nose, pressing is forehead to Castiel’s. “Fuck.”  
  
“That’s one term for this, yes,” Castiel offers one of those absurdly normal, yet stupidly _perfect_ smiles where his lips barely move, but his eyes crinkle up and focus on Dean like they mean the whole world. Castiel’s tentacles stay nestled snugly in Dean’s hole, and Dean consciously clenches around them, revels in the feeling of fullness, of being sated and safe.  
  
Dean doesn’t have the energy to roll his eyes, but he thinks about it. “Smart-ass.”   
  
Castiel nuzzles against the side of Dean’s face like some kind of oversized, tentacle’d sea cat, kissing at the corner of Dean’s mouth, then right on the lips. He even lets out some kind of damn purr. “Can I keep you?” Castiel asks dreamily, and Dean notices the water got a lot, well… _milkier._ Cas had tried to explain to Dean how his orgasms worked, but Dean never quite got it. He supposed all that really mattered was that Cas enjoyed himself.  
  
Dean pushes his hands through Castiel’s wet, messy hair, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. “You ask me that every time, and I _always_ say yes.”  
  
Castiel stares right back, eyes soft and pleased. “I like hearing it.”  
  
“Y’know what works good for that? Just as a suggestion.” Dean licks his lips, looking the tiniest bit sheepish. When Castiel tilts his head in question, Dean hesitates, then says, “I love you.”  
  
Every one of Castiel’s tentacles ripple suddenly, his smile growing. “I love you,” Castiel echoes, and Dean’s pretty sure if he himself had tentacles, they’d be friggin _flailing_ right now.  
  
Dean grins, leaning down for one more of many, many kisses to come.


End file.
